Peter's Promise
by QuidditchQuitter
Summary: While Caspian and Peter work to reunite Narnia under Caspian's rule, the departure of the Pevensies from Narnia is imminent. Even so, in the short time they are together, Peter discovers something about himself he never expected to learn here...and that will make it that much harder for him to say good bye. Slash Peter/Caspian.
1. Peter's Proposal

Paste your docum

**Title: Peter's Proposal**

**Rating: M – Peter/Caspian slash with some mature scenes.**

**Author Notes: After a long hiatus of about three years, I decided I really wanted to wrap this one up and have just written the last chapter, so it may feel shorter than it started out seeming that it would be. It ****_is_**** slash, Peter/Caspian, but as a true fan of Lewis and the Narnia chronicles ever since childhood, it's about a little more than that…at least to me. J I hope that comes through. Enjoy!**

* * *

_Psss. _

_Yeah._

_Did you see it?_

_I saw it._

_I daresay you did. That was a look between lovers if I ever saw one!_

_It were a bit longer than is usual. _

_Then you see what I mean._

_Yeah, I see. I wonder how long they been at it._

_A look like that, I tell you it's gone on right under our noses. Been brewing all the time. I seen it happen time and again. _

_Well then what's so scandalous about it?_

_It's not scandalous! Not really. But they're both royalty. And my guess is they keep it quiet like, because sooner or later one of 'um's liable to get married. You know, for diplomacies and such. They always do. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if _both _of 'ums got intendeds._

_You really think so?_

_Mark my words._

_Still not totally convinced after all, even with the look. Could be a temporary thing. Might not even exist, I mean, acknowledged and whatnot._

_Oh, is that what you think? What, like they don't even know it themselves? That what you mean?_

_Yeah._

_Oh they knows it. I bet me next wages on it. Ten percent._

* * *

After assuring the medic that he would look after Caspian, he followed his friend into the tent and flopped himself on his bunk, not bothering to remove his boots. Caspian, panting with pain, took a seat gingerly at the foot and slowly undid his shirt, sticky with sweat and blood, while Peter lazily watched. If he took any notice of Peter's unapologetic admiration, he did not let on.

"I won't ask how it went."

"Well," Caspian grimaced, "Let me just say that at least we didn't lose any men this round. But there is something definitely afoot in the woods."

"That must have been one angry wood spirit. I can't even remember the last time I saw one draw a bow."

"Narnians…"

"Well you've inherited the kingdom, so it's rather late to complain. Want some help there?"

Peter's eyes traveled over the broad, bruised shoulder, where Caspian had begun applying a soaked cloth to his wound. The color rose to his cheeks a little.

"If only we had your sister's trusty salve."

"You've no idea how many times that thought pops into my head. One would think there ought to be more than one of those things in Narnia, at the very least."

"Indeed." Caspian's dark hair looked wild as it covered his bent over face, giving him the appearance of a barbarian. Peter, whose cropped blond hair and blue eyes gave him quite a different look, had often reflected on how a more unusual pair of friends would be hard to find. There wasn't a day that had gone by since the deposition of Miraz's rule that he did not find the very fact of their friendship at all amazing in itself. In the last two months alone, the two of them had grown quite close as they shared battle and strategy together, and both had saved the other's life more than once. It helped, of course, that Aslan had intervened; the transferral of Narnia's responsibility to Caspian had filled Peter with as much peace as sorrow.

"It will take a long time for me to earn their trust."

"Don't worry, word travels fast. And Aslan's name will always have power," Peter reassured him, and he felt a familiar tugging sensation in his stomach…an ache he had come to associate more with his heart of late.

"And till then, what am I to do?" Caspian's dark eyes flashed as he whipped his hair out of his face and returned his gaze to Peter. "Must I kill all my own subjects before I've even begun to return to them their land? This cannot be what Aslan intended."

"I know, I know what you mean. It's like, being set up to fail, almost."

"Exactly. Why did he not stay? Why did he not ensure that everything was set in its place before leaving?"

"Look, Caspian, I know how you feel. He will be back. He promised he would. And I happen to know he will. He's got to-"

"What?"

"He's got to do something important, that's all." He had been going to mention that he would not be returning to Narnia again, but the reality was too hard. He'd rather not think about that. He sat up, hoping to change the subject instead. He'd been feeling particularly bold today, and had made a

vow to himself to tell Caspian the truth. This would be a real test of their friendship, after all. Wouldn't it?

"Listen, Caspian, I have a question for you."

Caspian had returned to dabbing at his shoulder. He poured ale onto it, hissed through his teeth, wiped it, and began to put on the clean shirt he had taken out of the trunk from under the bunk.

"I was having a conversation with one of your captains the other night. He had some interesting things to say about your people's military customs."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. One in particular I wanted to ask you about."

"Ask then, my friend." Caspian was putting his boots back on, Peter saw with a sinking sensation, but he plunged ahead. He had already decided this morning he would broach the subject of his attraction, and the occasional moment in which he'd felt almost certain Caspian sensed and even shared his feelings had only made him bolder by the day.

"Is it true that when Telmarine soldiers have been away from home for a long time, they pair up in their units?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know, pair up. Like mates. Like lovers."

Caspian looked up, and Peter thought his face had gone a little pale.

"Why do you ask?"

Peter sighed. Obviously, this was the moment. No point in dancing around the bush.

"I think you know." He leaned forward and smiled, hoping to put him at ease.

"Let's say for the sake of argument, that I don't. Maybe you could be more…specific?" Caspian put down the boot that was in his hand.

"Look, Caspian, ever since Aslan left, I've come to think of you as my best friend. I trust you with my life."

"I trust you with mine as well."

"I know. I mean, that's got to count for something, hasn't it? How many people can you say that about? I mean, besides any one of your soldiers?"

"Not many, it's true. But why do I have the feeling you want that to change somehow?"

"I'm saying I don't want it to change. I'm saying I think it's something unusual. Special, even."

At first, Peter thought Caspian's expression was one of pure disbelief. Then, to his utter surprise, he smiled, then laughed.

"I think I know what this is about," Caspian said with what might have been relief. "You are worried about the way my men interpret our friendship. To be honest, I'd expected it."

"Wait-"

"I even considered asking you if I might talk with Susan, you know, just to keep the rumors from spreading, but I wasn't sure if you'd-"

"I think you misunderstand me-Susan?" Peter frowned.

"Well, like I said, I wasn't sure if you'd give your blessing. Besides, it's a cowardly idea; why should I care what my soldiers might say? You and I both know that our relationship is honorable."

"Yes, I suppose that's true. But all the same, why should it be dishonorable if there were more to it? I mean to say, what if they were right?"

Now Caspian's face darkened, and for a moment, Peter thought he might actually be angry.

"Are you saying you have suspicions about me?"

"Quite the contrary, actually. If you'd just listen a moment, you'd hear what I've been trying to tell you." Peter reached across to his friend and rested his hand on Caspian's thigh. It was an invitation, but also an assurance that nothing more would come of it unless Caspian wanted it. Peter's heart beat hard in his chest, but even his own fear as he waited for an answer excited him. It was as if the secret had been blowing up inside him like a balloon, larger and larger, waiting to be set free on the wind. It felt good to tell the truth. "I'm saying I don't see anything wrong with it at all. In fact, I was even hoping, perhaps, you might want the same as I."

Caspian's lips moved wordlessly; he looked down at the hand on his thigh.

"I think…" he finally whispered. "I think I understand now. I have to think about it. You see…I really was thinking of talking to Susan, if I had your blessing."

"So it's she you love then? You're so sure of it?" Peter made no attempt to hide his disappointment.

"I didn't say that."

Peter moved his hand away and waited for a moment in silence. Then he asked, "Maybe I assumed too much. If I did, I'm sorry. It's just that, I thought for certain there have been a few times in which you might have considered-"

"I have considered," Caspian blurted, his eyes almost defiant. Peter smiled; Caspian's pride was one of the things he loved about him.

"I knew it. I mean, I hoped. I just want you to know-"

"I told you, I have to think about it. Just because the thought was there does not mean I was as close to acting upon it as you are."

The fact that Caspian had so much hesitation told him everything he wanted to know.

"Why not?"

"Because everything seems different when you're stationed with men facing death every day. Some find different ways of coping with it. I haven't decided if I shall do the same."

"I see." Peter felt it was time to pull back. "Well, I can't say I don't understand your hesitation. All the same..." He leaned in and reached for Caspian's throat. Caspian flinched, but he managed to tie the shirt strings at his throat before the king's hand pushed his firmly away. Peter opened his arms in a gesture of surrender. "There's one thing you might remember. If all that old soldier said to me was true, no woman will be able to meet your desires the way I can. I mean, of course, if you've done more than just 'thought' about it."

"Thanks," Caspian replied curtly as he stood up. "I think I'd better check on the scouting efforts."

"Caspian?" Peter could not keep the worry out of his voice as his friend turned his back to him. He felt a cold chill creep over him. What had he done?

But Caspian turned around and smiled, his eyes remained thoughtful and as dark as ever.

"Don't worry, Peter. Nothing you've said will change our friendship. Even if it makes me question some parts of it."

ent here...


	2. Peter's First

Paste your d

**Title: Peter's First**

**Author's Note: In the same vein as ****_Peter's Proposal _****(and in response to popular demand) this oneshot takes place after the events in that story. Slash with Peter/Caspian, and Peter and a new character of mine, Senigo. Hope you like and reviews appreciated!**

* * *

Caspian was stringing him along, the coward…Peter understood that the moment he first tried to kiss him. He knew he wasn't crazy; Caspian had been giving him signals right and left, ever since his proposal two weeks ago. This morning, they had had a second alone while they were in the tent, getting ready to receive a messenger from a rogue guerilla camp of unknown inhabitants in the royal pavilion. Peter meant it to be a natural gesture, friendly as an afterthought, but at the last second Caspian leaned away and gave him a sort of confused smirk. He knew then that Caspian had not yet made a decision, but was more interested in the flattery of attention from Peter than in the consequences that might come with returning it.

So he watched Caspian now, face flushed, glaring unnoticed from his sullen stance in the corner of the pavilion while the other, bright-eyed and on fire, turned on his diplomatic genius with the newly discovered, savage deep dwarves of Carrion Peak. He contemplated his misfortune bitterly, that in the game of courtship he'd allowed the object of his desire to obtain an advantageous position. That was the risk of making the first move, he mused. His bitterness sat in his stomach and soured his tongue as he rode back to the hidden camp, where they and their most trusted men watched the skies and the hills for any sign of treachery. Caspian would join them later; Peter had decided to leave early, having little interest in the conversation and, quite frankly, feeling rather inconsequential at the moment.

"Bloody Telmarine!" The horse cantered through the trees-who were all friendly in that part of the mountains-

When he arrived, he saw Senigo leading the watchers' horses around to the shaded hold where they would be fed, rubbed down and groomed after a grueling day of keeping on the heels of the newcomers.

Senigo was one of the most attractive Telmarines Peter had yet begun to notice in their immediate army. As he and Caspian had grown closer, he'd come to appreciate Telmarine culture and custom more than when he'd been a king so many years ago, and one of the things he'd had to admit to himself was that despite their savage proclivities toward oppression, they were an otherwise noble and remarkable race. They aged well, were beautiful in their dark hair and olive skin, and seemed always to be in the prime of their adulthood.

Senigo himself was a young man of perhaps a few years his junior, well built from work in the fields and as a soldier, slight but muscular, and with a matte of wild black hair that he sometimes tied away from his eyes with a band of cotton or silk. His eyes were a grayish green, a color that Peter thought gave him a stunning expressivity that was altogether different from the dark, fiery, determined passion reflected in Caspian's deep brown eyes. Senigo had the look of one halfway between innocence and wisdom, as if he always stood on the brink of epiphany, and his quiet and respectful manner had gotten the attention of Peter, who (to a fault, he knew) rarely noticed the lower ranking soldiers.

As he trotted up to the boy and observed him engrossed in his work, he decided then that Senigo was one of his favorites.

He dismounted and led the horse around to where the young man was coming back. When Senigo saw the king, he hurried his pace and dropped his gaze. Peter smiled thoughtfully.

"Sire," Senigo said, as Peter handed him the reins and he led the horse away. It seemed that the brief glance from him had held a certain alluring shyness to it, and a thought came to him. He followed him at a distance, trying to imagine what he could say to begin putting them on friendly terms.

A sort of rough stable had been configured with the help of several trees-even though some had complained at the idea, the handlers had eventually been able to convince them that the extra fertilizer would ultimately be a _good_ thing-and it was by this cozy, otherworldly dwelling that Senigo and the other stable hands had their camp. The entrance, which, to eyes unfamiliar with Narnian surroundings, might have appeared to be the home of a witch's hut out of a fairy tale, stood broadly at about twelve feet high, forming a dark canopy of leaves that let in a glow of soft, green light. Peter approached just as Senigo disappeared inside with the horse. He took off his helmet, wiped his brow, and followed as softly as he could.

Inside, Senigo was soaking a cloth in cold water. He had stripped down to his chemise and pushed the sleeves just up above the elbows, which gave him a little more room to get dirty without it being at the shirt's expense. Peter, who was aware that he could not help but admire his body now, knew that most soldiers had only one or two of these shirts to their name, and without a wife or sister around to help care for them, they had to rely on their own makeshift mending skills to make their simple clothing last as long as possible. It always made Peter feel a little guilty when he thought about how starkly his lives, both here and in England, contrasted with theirs.

Senigo was wiping the horse down and talking to him in a low, soothing voice. The horse, however, snorted and dropped into a bow at the sight of Peter, and he chuckled nervously.

"Your majesty, if you don't mind my saying so, a horse wouldn't mind a bit of warning before his riders come around to his private quarters. I don't stick my nose into your tent when you're bathing, do I?"

"Forgive me, Duanin, I didn't mean to catch you unawares. You are absolutely right. May I come in?"

"Well you're in now, sire," the horse snorted again. Peter patted him affectionately, pretending that he had not noticed Senigo standing there right away, but he had seen the blush and questioning glance of surprise as Senigo bowed and stepped back.

"Would you like me to prepare him to ride this evening?" he asked uncertainly.

"Lord, I hope not," Duanin muttered, but Peter shushed him.

"No, thank you. I'll not be going out again tonight. Senigo, isn't it?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Where are your companions?"

"They are attending a feast in honor of our guests, sire. They were given permission by King Caspian." Senigo's dark brows were slightly knitted, and Peter guessed that he was afraid he might be telling him something that Caspian had failed to confide himself.

"Ah yes, of course. But why are you not with them? Surely one of the squires could have come and relieved you."

"I do not mind my duties, sire. I volunteered."

"Do you not wish to attend?"

"If you please, my lord, I shall attend if it is your desire."

"Not at all. If you don't want to go, I'm certain you have your reasons. I hope, however, that you do take your share of leave time when possible. You must let your commander know if you do not have enough."

"Oh no, my lord!" Peter smiled internally as Senigo looked almost offended. He had forgotten his shyness momentarily, and now Peter could experience the full effect of his cloudy, riveting eyes. "I do enjoy my leisure time in quiet. Perhaps that seems unusual to most men."

"Not at all. A man has his reasons. I suppose you could say I had the same for coming back early."

"Yes, my lord."

Senigo busied himself with the rub down, while Peter searched for an excuse to stay there. He had rarely felt so awkward in his life; so many times, being king felt like a barrier between himself and the Telmarines of lower rank. He longed for the camaraderie that he had so far only enjoyed with his friend, Caspian, and his own siblings.

"Senigo…"

"Yes, your majesty?"

"I hope it doesn't make you uncomfortable that I am here. I would not want to intrude on your privacy. Nor yours, Duanin, you grumbler!"

"I was just going to say," the horse put in without missing a beat.

"Your majesty's company is welcome, of course, and I'm honored if it is your pleasure to be in these humble surroundings," Senigo answered gracefully. Peter had a momentarily inkling that, if the trees chose to respond to this remark, he would be hard-pressed to assuage their pride.

"Thank you."

"Sire?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Shouldn't I be thanking you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't think I've done anything for you yet, my lord."

For some reason, at that moment Duanin chose to excuse himself and asked if his majesty would mind if he wandered out into shade and grazed for a while. Peter scolded him cheerfully for even asking, but as the horse exited, he felt a flutter of uneasiness. Was it something in Senigo's voice that, as an animal, Duanin had heard that Peter couldn't? Or was it purely coincidence?

He found himself alone with the man, the horse no longer filling the space between them, and in the absence of any other company. Senigo appeared not to be aware of change in atmosphere; he busied himself just as easily with putting away tools as he had with caring for the horses. When he was finished, almost as an afterthought, he took another rag that hung on a branch within his reach and soaked it, proceeding to wipe his own forehead, face and arms. A soft breeze blew through the stable, cooling them.

"Pardon me, your majesty; I must look a sight."

"Not at all, Senigo. You don't have to do anything to impress me, you know," he added.

Senigo finally paused, looking him in the eye.

"I feel that I must…"

"No, you must not. I'm not anything special, you know."

Peter sighed, suddenly tired of keeping up the façade. He came forward and picked up the stable tools absentmindedly. "You must be wondering why I'm here, why I seem to have no particular desire at the moment. You spend all your time working to be the best stable hand, the best handler, and the best soldier you can be. Probably want to go back home and start a family and be in the best position to do so, so that you can care for their future, and so they can have the best future possible. Am I right?"

"Sire?" Senigo stood nervously off to his side, and out of the corner of his eye Peter thought he had stiffened.

"And then, here I come, hanging about in your workplace as it were, with no particular need in mind, and you're left trying to figure out how to exist in the same space as me." Peter was aware that he was rambling, but it felt as if he could not stop himself. He was just on the point of saying "I shouldn't have come here" and making a barely dignified exit, when Senigo's next reply stopped him cold.

"Sire…to be honest…may I tell you something?" he stammered.

"Of course."

"The truth is, I've dreamed about this moment." As soon as the words were out of Senigo's mouth, Peter could tell he regretted them. His face flushed furiously, and he looked ashamed. "You must find me very foolish. Forgive me, my lord. What I mean is, someone like me…I mean, of no significant class or line, to have a chance to speak as an equal with someone he so admires, a king like yourself or like Caspian, someone so _noble_…it's something every man dreams of, your majesty." Senigo suddenly turned away angrily, and Peter felt that there would never be a commander _or_ monarch who could possibly punish him as much as he now punished himself for his presumption. "Forgive me, my lord. It is a gross offense to suggest that we are equals."

"But that's just it!" Peter exclaimed, grabbing him by the elbow. "We _are_ equals. Perhaps not in official rank, but in…in _experience_, in feeling, in being, in everything we are as _men._ That is how Narnians are treated, Senigo. They expect this from us, just as we expect loyalty from them. But all Narnians are free. You see? To be here, in your company, is really-"

Senigo was looking at him, astonished, his eyes full of hope and fear. And suddenly, Peter pulled the man to him and kissed his mouth, softly, intimately. The lips were rough with the weathering of the outdoors, but they felt full, and as they seemed to respond by holding his own, Peter felt a sharp, prickly pleasure shoot through him straight from his gut to his knees. He looked full and long into Senigo's half-closed eyes for a full minute. Then he threw his other arm around his waist, crushed him against himself, and devoured him.

After a while, when the heat between them had increased and the feeling of Senigo's hot, panting breath on his face drove him almost insane with arousal, he buried his lips in the man's ear and murmured, "Why do you not caress me? Why do you hold back? If you don't want this, if I've been wrong-"

"Sire…." Senigo breathed, his voice a confusion of aggressive lust and humble admiration, "may I…is it possible…"

"If you don't touch me, I swear I'll die," Peter growled, his mouth journeying along the man's neck, and when Senigo's hands explored him freely, he thought he really would.

_Senigo lay asleep, nestled into Peter's side. They both slept deeply, Peter's mouth open, the blush on his pale cheek evidence of the passion between them. Caspian swallowed. He turned away from Peter's tent and made for his own slowly, removing his gloves like someone in a dream. He wondered…how long had Peter been keeping this secret affair from him? Perhaps it was a one time thing, an experiment, or a way-he smiled grimly as he flattered himself-to feed an unsatiated need only he, Caspian, could meet. Or, for all that, it might have been going on for months for all he knew. _

_The thought pricked his pride, and he found it unbearable. He pushed the thought away; he was king, and he had far more important matters at hand. He breathed deeply as he stood outside his large, ornamented tent, calming his mind. Lucky for him, this was an easier dilemma for him, who was accustomed to such complicated matters, as a part of his culture, than it would be for Peter. He went into his tent._

Senigo was gone in the morning as usual. Peter stretched as he looked about his tidied quarters; it was no use trying to persuade Senigo to stay past dawn, or discouraging him from picking up after them both before he left. He had given up trying. He did feel a twinge of regret every morning, anyway, and Senigo's absence helped lessen this a bit. He still had not told Caspian. But why should he? Caspian had already demonstrated he was not interested in Peter's love; what should he care if Peter found another object for his affections? He got up groggily and stumbled over to the wash basin, splashing himself in the face and toweling off. As he looked into the reflection, his actions slowed thoughtfully.

That was just it…he had _not_ found a new love. He had merely found a lover. Peter sighed, ashamed, and looked away from his own gaze. He loved Caspian still. His presence continued to send thrills through his body when he was near, and his eyes still seemed to set him aflame. When he left his side, however, and fled into Senigo's worshipful arms, he found an outlet for his passion. Although the relief that followed had been great, especially in the beginning, he still felt dirty somehow, and he knew it had something to do with Caspian, not Senigo. He had tried to talk himself out of this with derision, and the most common argument he used was that it was ridiculous for him to feel as if he were somehow being unfaithful to Caspian, as if loving another man were _normal_. It was nothing but lust fed by the devotion of their unusually strong friendship! There couldn't be anything more to it than that, and eventually, the novelty of this little game would pass.

But when he saw Caspian watching him, the inscrutable expression he had taken to be the slightest evidence of returned attraction, he could not hold his gaze for his guilt. There was something else, too, something he could not even put into words, and which only surfaced in his dreams because he could not face it awake. He feared that Aslan knew of his deeds…he somehow always did. And if it weren't for the fact that somewhere, deep down inside, he still believed that loving Caspian-and Senigo, for that matter-was terribly, terribly wrong.

"Peter!" Caspian's voice called, a cautious edge to it, sounding as if he were standing several feet away from his tent. The voice gave him a start, punctuating his thoughts.

"Speak of the devil," he muttered, and began to pull on his trousers and boots. "I'm on my way…what's the news from the Peak?"

"Nothing. The Peak is for another day," Caspian called cryptically, and Peter, stumbling as he pulled his tunic over his head, was momentarily distracted from his own problems. He burst into the sunlight and shielded his eyes, staring blindly at the silhouette of Caspian astride his horse.

"What do you mean, 'another day?' Has something happened?"

"You'll find out. I'll tell you what little I know on the ride."

"Ride?"

"I've already called for Duanin. In the meantime, get your best bow. We're going shooting." Without any further explanation, Caspian and Faldin trotted off.

"So are you going to tell me what we're up to, now?"

They cantered through the woods, a select group of archers and a meager number of pages in tow.

"I'll tell you what I know," Caspian repeated, preoccupied with avoiding the twigs and thin, lower branches of the strange trees, who did not seem to think it necessary to make way for the party riding through. "Have you ever met a wood nymph?"

"Now that's a silly question. I've known more true Narnians in my lifetime than you, in case you've forgotten," Peter joked, his voice sounding more arrogant than he intended. He hoped Caspian would not be cross.

"Well, there's a clan of them come from the south. Traveling for the autumn, only they've come further than usual. Their queen wishes to make our acquaintance."

"So what's the big deal? Why didn't they make arrangements through the Office of Diplomatic Affairs? Look here, who is this queen?" It occurred to Peter that he ought to know this nymph rather well, if she was royalty.

"She is called the Mother of the Moon…that is all I could get from the messenger mice, I'm afraid."

Peter rolled his eyes.

"Did you think to ask if she had a less formal title, and a shorter one?"

"Of course."

"And?"

Caspian shrugged, still looking ahead.

"They said we could call her 'Mother,' if we liked."

"Oh, that's _much_ less awkward," Peter replied, his voice oozing sarcasm.

"Well, in my _limited_ experience, diplomacy tends to have a better chance if you meet new peoples with an open mind and demonstrated willingness to show respect."

Peter had nothing to say to this, and privately thought Caspian could be such a prude sometimes.

It would be a few days' journey to the hidden grove of the southern wood nymph clan; when night fell they made their camp, and Peter, who had grown used to having the warm body of Senigo sleeping next to him, felt very alone. That night he tossed and turned. He dreamed of the dark form of Aslan, frowning at him as he approached his old throne at Car Paravel. When he sat in the throne, a low growl came from the lion that quickly became deafening. He awoke and did not get much more rest as the night passed.

In the morning, the dream fresh in his mind, he heated some water in a kettle, filled his basin, and had a long, hot wash, resolving to put all thoughts of his lust for Senigo out of his mind for good. As for Caspian, he mused…loving someone could not be wrong, but wanting them to fulfill your own selfish desires so much that your love was perverted, well that was obviously wrong. He supposed that he could see the truth in that. It was something he could live with, even if he could never be sure his feelings for Caspian would fade completely. He sighed a shaky, self-pitying sigh. _It's just until we leave Narnia_, he reminded himself, and for the first time began to believe it was best if he never came back.

Peter was unusually quiet during breakfast. Caspian tried to engage him in conversation several times, but he seemed distant, and the king eventually gave up. As the days passed and Peter's behavior grew progressively antisocial, he began to think that Peter was purposefully snubbing him.

"It is because I do not return his affection!" he muttered angrily at the end of their fourth night. He paced restlessly, arguing with himself and the imaginary Peter in his head, until his Telmarine pride could no longer stand to stay silent. He stalked out of the tent and across the grass in such a manner that the archers moved quickly out of his way, and made a beeline for Peter's tent. When he arrived, however, he pulled up short.

There, outside the tent, was a mouse guard. Caspian shook himself; it was a sight he still had to get used to. He approached cautiously, and the mouse bowed.

"Good evening, my good mouse."

"My liege."

"Is the king well?"

The mouse bowed low again, but did not respond right away. Caspian grew alarmed, straining to hear what was going on in the tent.

"Dear mouse," he tried again, mustering composure over his frustration, "I beg you to tell me please, whatever you can. If he wishes not to be disturbed, he shall not be. I merely want to know if he has fallen ill or some other disaster has happened. Can you tell me anything, or not?"

"Your highness," said the mouse in a high, nasily voice that sounded aristocratic if not ridiculous, "Please forgive what must seem to be my rudeness, but I was bidden by the Most High himself to speak nothing of my master's mission, my master, who is in there now, with his highness, the High King Peter. Indeed, I may already have said too much, your highness."

"I see," Caspian sighed after a pause, trying not to count how many times the mouse had said the word "high." "Very well. I will ask no more." He wandered a little ways off to wait for Peter, troubled. Undoubtedly the mouse was referring to Aslan, the great lion himself. But if that were so, why was Aslan's message restricted from his hearing? After all, he _was _to be the new king of Narnia, wasn't he? He shook these worries away, ashamed. Who was he to question the great lion?

Movement behind him shook him from his reverie. He turned to see the light from the tent spilling softly onto the ground, as the mouse messengers left, one of them cloaked so that the face could not be seen.

"Caspian…my friend," Peter's voice called from the tent. "The guard told me you were here. If you can hear me, please do come in."

Caspian entered the tent, filled with apprehension.

Peter was sitting on a stool, his gloves in his hands. He looked pale and unhappy. It must have been very bad news…Caspian straightened his back and prepared himself, his alarm growing. He must put aside their differences and try to help Peter, whatever the issue was.

But to his further dismay, Peter said nothing of the message.

"It's good to see you," he murmured, looking up, and his face had an honest, vulnerable expression. Caspian softened. "It feels as if it's been a while…I mean, since we've talked. In earnest."

"Truly, my friend, it has," Caspian returned, pulling a chest forward and sitting on it, a foot away. "What troubles you?"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I've not been myself lately."

Caspian waited.

"I haven't been sleeping well."

"Nightmares," Caspian guessed, after a pause. He knew all about this. He wondered what it was that could be tormenting his friend so persistently.

"Yes."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I cannot, Caspian."

"Very well." Caspian was resigned; evidently, the message from Aslan would continue to be a mystery. At least, he mused, it seemed to be of a more private matter, and not something that concerned their mission to unite Narnians. "Tell me, what can I do?"

At this, Peter looked up again, and his expression was startling. There was something of rebellion and devastation that had hollowed his eyes. "All right. You've seen the lion, haven't you?" Caspian nodded. "Tell me, do you think a person can defy Aslan, and live?"

ocument here...


	3. Peter's Principles

Paste your docu

**IV. Peter's Principles**

* * *

Caspian stood bolt upright and stared at Peter.

After a moment, Peter laughed, a wry, bitter laugh.

"Never mind, it's nothing. I was just going over a problem in my head."

"It is this message!"

"Yes."

"Well? What is it then?"

"It's nothing. Just something he wants me to do, Caspian. Something I don't want to."

"Oh…"

Peter could see that this was doing little to calm Caspian's alarm, but no matter how Caspian tried, he eluded the subject for the rest of their trip.

The visit with the southern wood nymphs was lukewarm, in Peter's opinion. While they were friendly enough, the eccentric behavior of their rather egotistical queen (she had challenged everyone in the Narnian camp to an archery contest, and then proceeded to trounce each contestant shamefully) marred their relationship considerably, and both Peter and Caspian looked forward for their departure. Aside from the persistent soreness of his aching muscles after the archery contest, Peter had another excellent reason for the visit leaving a bad taste in his mouth. The day of their arrival had followed a night with a full moon, and Peter had ignored Aslan's summons to meet him out by the nearby lake.

He waited for the repercussions the following day, but heard nothing from the lion.

So he had defied Aslan and lived. A summons wasn't a great thing; Aslan had been disobeyed before, and usually responded with mercy and a sharp, uncomfortable bit of wisdom. It wasn't the one offense that had Peter worried. It was the fact that in his heart, he knew he would do everything in his power to avoid Aslan as long as he could, the fact that this first night was only the beginning of his defiance, and most of all, the conviction that Aslan knew why: He had weighed both his love for men and his love for Aslan, and chosen men.

They were retrieving their arrows in a meadow in midday where they'd stopped for a rest from travel and decided to have a one-on-one archery practice. Caspian sat down, looking pleased with himself, and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Peter approached with his own bundle of arrows clutched in one hand, and, after a moment, sat down beside him. Without really being aware of it, he drew a deep breath that came out sounding like a sigh.

"Your heart seems heavy again." Caspian smiled, but Peter could see a seriousness in his eyes that he took to be concern.

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid I must be terribly dull lately."

"You're never dull. I wish you would tell me what has been troubling you these days, though. I was enjoying the confidence."

Peter was silent. He had already made up his mind to try his luck with Caspian again, to confess his desire for him, and place himself at his mercy. He knew the truth would come out today, though he didn't know yet in what form, but Caspian's words gave him a thought.

"Caspian, when did it happen? I mean," he continued, noting the king's confused expression, "you and I becoming friends. As I recall, we had rather a rough start. I take responsibility for that, by the way. But when did it change?"

Caspian looked thoughtful, his eyes far away. When he spoke, the tenor of his voice seemed softened, as if a recollection of his more youthful self.

"I'd always admired the old stories of the kings and queens of Narnia…I used to daydream about them when I was small. We had many adventures together. I imagined that we were friends and were all growing up together, and I would seek you for counsel about the Narnians, and you would introduce me to your closest friends…I dreamed of great battles against hordes of the White Witch. I had those daydreams…hmm…I think all the way until I was grown. Perhaps it sounds strange to you," Caspian amended, looking at Peter apologetically, "but I think I felt you were always my best friends. Before I met you, I mean."

At that, they both laughed, surprised, and Caspian quickly tried to take his words back but Peter would have none of it.

"I understand what you mean. We must have been very different from what you expected."

"Yes. I confess…well, you know already. I had trouble understanding where the nobility came from. But, as we fought together, and as I have come to know you, even in adulthood, I see in you now the man that was written about in those old stories. I see the nobility in your eyes, I hear it in your voice. You and your brother and sisters are all made of the life of Narnia. I know you, and I believe in you. I feel as if anyone who meets you can't help but believe."

Caspian draped a strong arm around Peter's shoulders, clasping him in friendship, and Peter found himself moved by the lack of embarrassment in his expression. He swallowed, his eyes pricking. When he could speak again, he said,

"I am glad we became friends, then, for I couldn't think of a more honorable man to love."

A breeze that swept across the meadow filled that moment then, and for just that instant, it felt right. When the breeze had passed, however, Peter thought it felt a little long. Uncomfortable and certain of their mutual discomfort, he prudently pretended to lean forward and adjust his boot, slipping out of Caspian's embrace. He imagined Caspian was relieved as his arm dropped casually away. As he stared at his feet, he thought now must be as good a time as any.

"Caspian."

The king said nothing, but looked at him expectantly, his long hair covering his eyes only a little.

"I do have something I want to tell you. I'm not sure how it will come out, so just bear with me, all right?"

"Of course."

"Do you remember that other night when I spoke with you about the customs of Telmarine soldiers?" He swallowed again, and his mouth felt very dry. Caspian's face hardened the slightest bit, and he looked away.

"About the soldiers taking lovers when they were away. Yes."

"Of course. Silly question. Anyway, what I mean to say…"

"I hope you don't feel that you owe me an apology."

"Wh..what?" Peter was thrown off guard for a moment by Caspian's knowing gaze.

"About your curiosity. I am not offended."

"Oh. That's good to know, I suppose…"

"And I can't help but notice you've shown interest in one of the stable hands," Caspian remarked offhandedly, but his tone was forced and stopped Peter's breath cold. "Senigo, I believe his name is?"

"Yes, that's true." Peter whispered, not wishing to lie, but feeling as if the ground had been taken from under him. Though he'd guessed this would probably come up as he had a heart to heart with Caspian, he somehow felt ill-prepared to hear the words-to hear Senigo's _name_-said aloud. Caspian had turned away again.

"It is of little significance. I mean, I am glad you have found happiness. I trust the experiment has been interesting." Caspian laughed, and suddenly Peter realized how little they still understood each other on this topic, how much he had yet to try to make Caspian see. Caspian obviously thought that it was nothing short of amusing that Peter would have romantic relations with a Telmarine soldier, but he had no idea of how horrifically disorienting it felt to Peter. He could not know that the idea of love between two men-_love_ between two men-was nothing short of taboo in his own world. Even Narnians as a rule had always considered the peoples to the south to be barbaric at worst, eccentric at best, when it came to cultural customs.

But most of all, add to this the fact that he was in love with Caspian himself-or at least, that's what it seemed to be-and had to somehow explain this in light of the fact that he _appeared_ to be in love with someone else entirely.

"It's complicated," he said sternly, and Caspian abruptly sobered.

"What do you mean? Is it very strange? Do you need some advice or…instruction? Don't be afraid to ask, if that's what it is-" Peter stopped him, holding up his hands in desperation.

"It's not that, or anything like that. It's not what you think at all. Well-half a moment-perhaps it is. Perhaps advice really is what I need, Caspian. You are my only friend-I mean that, you are the only one I have shared this with."

"Well forgive me for saying this, but I don't think it's that much of a secret."

"What? Nevermind." Peter stood up and shook his head, agitated. Then he spun around, ignoring the alarmed expression now on Caspian's countenance. He had not moved from his spot and seemed to be hanging onto the earth, waiting for something. "Look, Caspian, I know it looks like I am having some kind of…'adventure,' as you put it, with one of your men."

"_Our_ men."

"Ours, then. But that's not the issue. When I spoke to you that night, I was interested in _you._"

The color seemed to drain just a little from Caspian's olive face.

"I know." He sounded out of breath.

"I suppose you think it was just curiosity."

"I did…was it not, then?"

"Perhaps at the time it was. But now I realize it was something more. Something that has nothing to do with Senigo, and can't be satisfied by him. It's you that I-good _god_! I can't believe I'm about to say this."

"But this is perfectly natural!"

Peter stood, stunned, as a broad smile broke out on Caspian's face. Caspian leapt up and pulled him into a tight embrace.

"I am honored! Having affection for a close comrade-it happens all the time, Peter. It's not strange at all. You can't imagine I would be jealous over Senigo? It is rather strange, how fast we have become friends. I never expected it to go this way. But I welcome your love, Peter. I don't mind at all. I would like very much to help you experience satisfaction, although I have to tell you I have not had much experience, not with women _or_ men!"

Before Peter could respond to this, Caspian pulled them apart enough to look into his face with a tenderness that was almost condescending. Then he kissed him, hard, and smiled again, as if expecting some kind of praise.

Peter's legs trembled. His mouth tingled sharply, and he felt the prickly feeling below his belly reach all the way up to his eyes, so that he blinked rapidly. He had frozen, as if expecting something more to happen, forgetting to respond to the warm caressing of Caspian's hands on his arms as Caspian peered into his eyes, waiting.

"What's wrong?" He finally asked.

"Nothing. I need to sit down." Caspian let him go immediately, and Peter slowly sank to the ground. When he looked up, he could have burst into hysterical laughter at the disappointed look on Caspian's face, if it had not been for the feeling that the ground was still lurching underneath him.

"I'm so sorry, I was not expecting that."

"I'm not very good, I know." Caspian sighed, seeming to recover quickly from his disappointment. He sat down again, and Peter recognized the look in his eyes that said he was all too eager to take on this novel challenge. "As I mentioned before, I never dreamed things between us-"

"No! Caspian! I don't mean for you to-"

"It's all _right_, my friend! Don't worry!" He rubbed Peter's arm, still smiling his broad smile. "I told you, I would be honored, if you'll let me. I promise I can improve. But there's no need for you to feel as if you must do anything. Should you ever feel-well-an _urge_, for instance-" and here Caspian finally blushed, "simply come to me. You won't need to say anything, you don't need to ask. Such experiences are meant to be shared between friends, not strangers, Peter."

Peter tried again and again to assuage the dry feeling in his mouth as his whole world seemed upside-down. His body was still on fire, the unsettled, painfully pleasurable feeling below his belly threatening nausea. Somewhere in the back of his mind's eye, the silhouette of a large lion faded in and out.

"But…what about you? Your future? What about Susan?" He felt as if he were grasping wildly at anything that would help him surface back into sanity, even though he nearly choked on his own sister's name. "Surely one day, your wife-"

"Yes, my wife, whomever she should be, and I should only be so lucky if it were-if it were anyone _half_ as wonderful as Susan-if you'll excuse me for saying so, I shall be very glad to have had hours and hours of practice!"

ment here...


	4. Peter's Conquest

Paste your document here.

**Title: V. Peter's Conquest**

**Rating: M for (tasteful) but detailed sexual content.**

**Author's Note: You true slash enthusiasts will ****_love_**** this latest installment in the Peter/Caspian saga. I tried to do the love scene justice this time and not rush through it. In return, if you like it, let me know if you want more of the same. :P For those of you just joining us, this is the "sequel" to ****_Peter's Principles. _****Enjoy...and thanks for the reviews for the last one!**

* * *

Peter's ears were ringing.

_Practice!_

Hours. And hours.

He could scarcely breathe. His hands trembled terribly as he accepted the tankard given to him at their feast, which was being given in honor of their return.

Incidentally, he mused with some chagrin, no one had thought to question whether or not their meeting with the southern wood nymphs was successful. Even he was not sure, and he suspected Caspian shared his perplexity.

Only one more month before the final installment of Caspian X at Car Paravel. One more month before he saw his brother and sisters, and Aslan again.

Aslan, who still waited for him in his dreams, standing silently in a shadowy, otherwise empty grove.

Caspian grasped Peter's hand, a big, celebratory grin on his face.

Peter froze and stared at him like a deer about to be torn to pieces by a lion, but his friend did not seem to notice.

The festivities around them seemed deafening; there were a song and dance put on by some fauns, another courtly dance by some dryads, from which the Telmarine men could hardly look away, a prophetic, achingly-lovely song performed by an ancient centaur bard…and many other entertainments. Through it all, despite the enchantment of the moment, the overwhelming sense of fresh camaraderie that enveloped the Telmarines and the Narnians, Peter was occupied with only his own fears.

The torches that illuminated the pavilion seemed to dim by some bewitching, and gradually the strange creatures of the Narnian forests and the haggard, savagely-beautiful men and women of Telmar drifted off to their tents, to finish whatever business needed to be seen to until morning, and then to sleep. Candles on the feasting table replaced the torches; dark shapes moved about, clearing away the remains of the feast. Caspian had gone when Peter finally shook himself, looking about.

A sharp "plink!" on a harp string caught his attention, and he saw that a young fox-one of the musicians-was looking at him with respectful concern.

"Sire, is there anything you require this evening?"

"No, dear friend, I am quite content." The meaning behind the words took some effort, but he couldn't bear to disappoint the fox. Somehow, when he looked into the eyes of the Narnians, a great expanding of his heart seemed to overcome him, and he could never wish for anything but their happiness at that moment.

"Then, if you don't mind, my liege, I shall take my leave."

"Good night!"

"Indeed, sire. A good one it has been!" Practically whooping, the fox slapped its thigh in delight-Peter guessed he'd probably had a little more of the mead than was usual-and took off with its instrument, calling and answering loud praises with his fellows.

Peter clutched at the makeshift throne which they'd insisted on bringing him and Caspian.

He had not visited Caspian in his tent since that day in the meadow, when Caspian kissed him. He was terrified of the desire it had awakened. Caspian knew too much about these things, it seemed; much more than he did. He had understood then that the day he turned over his desire to Caspian was the day he learned more than he'd ever bargained for-about _that_.

He shuddered with the memory of his forlorn dream the night before, as he often did whenever he thought about Caspian. Then, as the candles were dimmed, as he found himself almost completely alone, his body seemed to decide for him. He stood up, threw his cloak around himself, and went to Caspian's tent.

He heard voices within, but did not slow his pace; when he entered, a surprised-looking guard glanced at him and saluted quickly. Caspian was sitting the wrong way in a chair, looking as if he had just gotten comfortable and had been light-heartedly discussing some business with the soldier, but Peter ignored his questioning, open-mouthed stare.

"Leave us in private, please," he said over his shoulder to the guard, who bowed and retreated at once. It was silent outside; Peter looked at Caspian, who seemed glued to his seat. He began to untie the top of his chemise, which was all he had worn under the cloak that he'd let drop to the floor.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Peter thought, judging by the look in his eye, Caspian had an idea. He took off the chemise and stood bare-chested, self-conscious-shivering with dreadful excitement.

"You say that like you haven't been expecting me."

"Well-" Caspian laughed, spluttered, blushed. "I suppose I have sooner or later." He said it, Peter thought, as if he hadn't decided whether or not to drop the game of casual conversation. Peter waited expectantly, his heart pounding. "That was a _wonderful_ reunion! Didn't you think so? I really believe they are coming together on friendly terms at last; seeing how joyful everyone was tonight; it made up for all the unpleasantness, all the misunderstandings, all the prejudice. It just made everything seem like it was going to be all right. Am I crazy? Or didn't you feel the same?"

Caspian's excited-and nervous?-chatter could not distract Peter. He murmured some answer, stepping closer and beginning to reach for his belt-at that, he thought he heard Caspian draw a sharp breath.

"What are you doing?" Caspian half-laughed, but his face was uncertain, and he rose and stopped halfway, instinctively wary.

"Isn't it obvious? I've come for instruction." He stepped closer, his heart beating against his breastbone, the blood pulsing dangerously fast throughout every limb. He felt light-headed, terrified, exuberant. "I've tried to stay away, been terrified to come here. But I can't wait any longer. Your ways are strange to me, Caspian, I won't lie…but it's no matter because I want you, all the same." He held out his hand, suddenly aware of the naked pleading of his gesture. "Will you help me?"

Caspian had risen completely now, standing by his chair, almost glowering. Peter recognized the firey glare, however; he was thinking, calculating, _preparing_. He felt breathless with anticipation. He wanted to savor the moment: How would Caspian touch him? How would he kiss? What did he know, and what would he show him? Would he enjoy it? His head whirled; Caspian came forward, his dark hair and his dark eyes so beautiful to him at that moment he felt tears well up in his eyes. His fear became a great lump of dry sand in his throat. When Caspian came to him, his eyes piercing his with determination, hand held out to grasp his own, he collapsed on his neck.

"I will do my best," he murmured, and the next thing Peter knew, Caspian's hot hands were grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him in-he listened to his labored breathing, shuddered as the lips sucked the area just under his ear, gasped as a strong hand plunged between his thighs and stroked him…he felt how hard he was and felt embarrassed and ashamed.

Even so it was bliss. Caspian, truer to his word than he could have realized, seemed to sense Peter's every need. He responded instantly to his stiffened body and spoke in a low voice to him, encouraging him, taking his face in his hands and smiling, trying to relax him with amusement. With Caspian, Peter quickly realized, he would have to relearn everything he thought he'd learned with Senigo, because now he _was_ Senigo.

_Maybe_ that's _why it was so much easier to cross that line before,_ he mused, as Caspian pushed him to his bed and kissed him passionately. With Senigo, it had felt like a game, and had given him a sense of relief. With Caspian, he felt lost, hopeless, captured, broken. For Senigo, he had given caresses and flattery, but for Caspian-who had deftly removed their trousers without even a hint of hesitation-he would give _everything_.

He groaned as Caspian's body rubbed against his. They were wrapped in a spidery mess of writhing arms and legs; every time they looked into each other's eyes, Peter's stomach lurched and he felt weak with excitement, for the fearlessness he saw there. He knew that Caspian was enjoying himself; his body seemed to take over, his thighs trapping him underneath while his hands explored every inch of his body. Caspian kissed him fiercely, over and over, his tongue thick and invasive. Peter gasped for air now and then, but he could not let go, overcome as he was with the intoxication of being so desired. It was more than he'd even hoped for, and he wanted every second to last…

Then, unexpectedly, Caspian rolled him over. Climbing onto his back, he ran his lips and tongue along the back of his shoulders, his lower back, his legs. Peter was amazed.

"Wha-" he whispered, but Caspian didn't seem to hear him. Over and over, his large hand cupped him between his legs, stroking him until he moaned, stopping then to move to his inner thighs and along the backs of his legs. Excited frustration grew; by this time, usually Senigo had begun a steady rhythm that would bring him to the climax they had discovered together. Did Caspian not know what he was doing?

Then, he felt Caspian mount him, and felt a hard pressure push between his legs. His heartbeat suddenly sped out of control as he realized what was happening. He grabbed Caspian's wrist, stopping him.

"I-I'm afraid!" Was all he could manage.

"All right…it's all right. You don't have to."

"No! I want to."

"All right."

Caspian began to move against him again. He rubbed his neck, kissed him, assured him again that everything was all right.

Then he entered him.

It happened so quickly that at first Peter was aware of only two sensations: a cold wetness, and the _fullness_ of being stretched, opened, and made receptive to the man on top of him. He did not realize he had forgotten to breathe. He cried out, but it was only much later that he remembered he did not exactly feel much pain. Tears spilled over his eyelids as he groaned aloud, Caspian moving with him, sighing, clenching and releasing with a tremor as he was overcome with pleasure. It was the sound and feel of Caspian's ecstasy that brought him to the edge. All thoughts of Aslan, Susan, or Senigo completely gone, he abandoned himself to Caspian, rising and falling with him, slowly, faster, _harder_…every sigh that escaped from Caspian spurred him on, made him want to give him even more pleasure, to _force_ Caspian to _love_ him…he moaned loudly, and heard Caspian do the same. He had never heard that sound from him before, never heard him so breathless…

He began to feel the urgency in Caspian's thrusts, and realized that he was no longer in control. His fingers gripped Peter's waist, his other arm grabbing the mattress. His thighs pushed Peter's apart as he went as deeply as he could go; Peter's cry was answered with his own. He felt the full weight of Caspian's body upon him as he lay down and interwined their fingers as they both held onto the sheets beneath them.

Then Caspian arched, his sudden hardness wet again, a final spasm seizing his groin. He pushed against Peter again, who lay weak beneath him, suspended in pleasure and pain. Then he collapsed against him, letting out a shaky laugh. When he had caught his breath and become aware that Peter was crying silently into the cot, he held him, laughing, and stroked his hair. Then he rolled him over and made love to him again, and again.

..


	5. Peter's Epiphany, Part 1

**Author's Note: Thank you, superboyclex and quietusregret, for your motivating reviews! Hope you and all like this next in the installment of the Peter/Caspian series. We are nearing the end, now...**

**Title: VI. Peter's Epiphany, Part I **

Peter gazed at Caspian's thoughtful, peaceful face, stroking his hair.

Caspian's fingers trailed his shoulder absently. He was looking up at the ceiling. It was early morning.

They had lain that way for hours now, after Caspian had sighed and exclaimed that he now understood so much more about why older men seemed to act so foolishly. Peter leaned on his elbow, drinking in all the tumultuous feelings muddled together, sweet while bitter: Pain, guilt, fear, love, acceptance, pleasure, warmth, quiet, uncertainty.

Someone sounded a horn outside, and Peter felt that all around him, the camp was beginning to stir. They had much work to do. The forests were being awakened, Narnian volunteers were doing reconnaissance missions to find, rescue and rehabilitate-if possible-the animals who had grown wild over time. Everywhere in Narnia, messages were being taken to Narnian provinces populated with descendants of Telmar, meetings scheduled with their quaint governments being carried out with the most delicate charm of Caspian and Peter's diplomats.

It was a lot more work than it would have been in the days that Peter knew, when he had been a grown man, and Narnia had been united under the Lion. He knew Aslan would eventually put things to right at Car Paravel, but until that time, he seemed to want Peter and the others-and perhaps Caspian most of all- to do for themselves as much as possible. He supposed it was very wise, but to some degree, it seemed to take some of the old magic out of the memories of his days as High King-if it were possible at all to imagine Narnia without any magic.

Caspian was sitting up and looking as if he were about to get dressed. Peter, much more slowly, rose to a sitting position and leaned his elbows on his knees. He did not want the night to be over. He did not know how he could face what was beyond their tent; he had changed in one night. How could he ever let Narnia see him like this? Narnia, whose memory was revered in his mind as the place of pure innocence?

He felt England calling him back home, and it seemed as if someone had died.

"-mighty minotaurs do. I think one of our own squirrels could give them a run for their money! But of course I daren't tell the general that," Caspian was gleefully saying. Peter could not make out the context, so he dumbly nodded. Caspian had his trousers on and was lacing a boot.

"So what's on the agenda for today?" He asked, feigning interest.

Second boot.

"Well, the generals wanted to brief me about a nasty matter on the border…Telmarine uprising it seems…" Caspian's voice was heavy with sadness. "I wish they would cooperate. They are farmers…poor peasants. I imagine that's part of the trouble. They have had revolts now and then, but I don't care for the way my uncle usually handled them."

The boot was laced; Peter remained in bed, wishing he could stop the morning from arriving.

"I can imagine."

"I wish Aslan were here already," Caspian said suddenly, and the longing in his voice and the mention of the Lion's name stabbed Peter with an unpleasant shock. He didn't answer, though Caspian looked at him expectantly. Finally Caspian shrugged. He stood, fully dressed now, buttoning his tunic. He looked very handsome, Peter thought. He had been scrutinizing Caspian all morning to see if his fiery feelings of before had remained-they had. He was still in love with his friend. That was a terrifying thought.

"I'm afraid I'll stop believing in him before I've had a chance to start," Caspian finished. "Well, are you coming? It won't do for me to be there without you-I don't have your charisma, you know." He smiled, his face breathtakingly beautiful as always. Peter smiled back ruefully.

"You're wrong about that of course. I'll be there. Sorry I'm so slow. I'm…I'm not used to this, you know," he blurted suddenly.

Caspian gave him a solemn nod.

"Of course. I keep forgetting. I hope…everything was okay." He grinned, embarrassed. "I _do_ promise I can improve…"

"No! Stop saying that, Caspian. It has nothing to do with that."

"But I'm not offended!"

"I _know_. Just _please_…"

"What?"

"Just…stop talking about it!"

"Oh…haha. All right. I…I will see you."

"I'll be there. Got to find my clothes and whatnot."

"Oh…certainly." Caspian blushed. But as he left, Peter could easily see that he was pleased with himself. _Damn Telmarines! They've ruined everything wonderful about Narnia! Everything that made it great! They've done more to it than that horrid White Witch!_

But even as he thought this angrily, putting on his wrinkled clothes, another voice in his head jumped in. _Are you sure you don't mean to say _you've_ ruined it?_ He swore loudly, not caring if anyone outside heard.

It was a long, long day.

The morning began with breakfast with Caspian and the officers, both Narnian native and Telmarine. They listened to messengers who brought word from the diplomatic missions to the south, including the uprising along the border by the peasants. At noon, to his surprise and utter horror, Susan, Edmund and Lucy arrived.

They were greeted with much pomp and celebration in the camp, and warmly welcomed especially by Caspian himself, whom, Peter could help but notice, seemed only too delighted to see Susan again. He found every opportunity possible not to be alone with his siblings, feeling as if everything that plagued him was out in the open, that they would see in an instant all he had done in their absence. And if they knew he had disobeyed Aslan!

By early evening, when the excitement was beginning to wane and it was business as usual as dinner was being prepared, Peter was forced to sit with them awhile in the main pavilion, listening to their travel account.

"-gone as far as the marshlands when we met up with the lost unit of Palindor," Lucy was explaining excitedly.

"Yes, it was all very odd! It seemed that the wiggles didn't know that Aslan had returned. They were certain we were with Miraz-"

"And it took a lot of sorting out, but we managed in the end, and then-"

"-Then they asked for some help persuading a local family of giants-"

"Giants?" Caspian cried, thrilled.

"Everyone knows giants are dolts, Lucy…what do you mean by it? Persuade them to do _what_ exactly?"

This had come out sounding a lot more cross than Peter intended, and there was a brief pause as he noticed Edmund giving him a thoughtful look. But the moment was soon recovered.

"Yes, _we_ know that, Peter," Lucy continued very patiently, "but the wiggles _didn't_. They were being very practical about the matter-"

"Or so they thought," put in Edmund.

"-And seemed to think it would be foolish not to include them when they could be so useful in putting an end to any in-fighting over the matter of the throne."

"In the end, we finally convinced them to abandon the matter. They helped us return, however; there was a family of jaguars in the area that agreed to run us back to the coast, and from there, we were able to come into camp with the new unit," Edmund finished.

"And did you see Aslan?" Caspian wanted to know immediately.

Peter could stand no more. He got up, making as much noise as he could putting on his cloak and scooting his chair from the table so that he would not have to hear anything about Aslan.

"I've got to go stretch my legs. I'll be back," he assured Edmund, when they wanted to know where he was going.

Then he stalked out of the pavilion and made a beeline for his tent.

In the middle of the night, Peter awoke suddenly-and alone. He lay quiet for a while, remembering having fallen asleep after spending the evening cleaning his sword and many trinkets from Car Paravel in a deep nostalgia. There had been a flurry of scuffling noises outside of the tent. After a moment, he felt and heard them again; people were moving about in a hurry around the camp. Were they being attacked? Why had no one awakened him? His hand reached out and closed around the hilt of his sword. Good. He would be ready if there were any trouble. Gone were the days when the thought of a midnight ambush would have frozen him in terror, fearful for both himself _and_ his family. He knew Susan, Edmund and Lucy could take care of themselves.

Silently, stealthfully, he rose bare-chested from his cot and crept across the floor. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could see shadows of grown men, horses, and animals moving purposefully around. What was going _on_? The strangest thing of all was that no one, _no_ one, had thought to awaken him and tell him anything. It left a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. What kind of betrayal was this? He knew it was wrong, but he couldn't help it; his mind raced through random possibilities…Caspian being the now-recognized king of Narnia, a mutiny of Telmarines, an uprising of Narnians…his midnight imaginations flickered quickly through the awful and bizarre. He should have been more focused on saving lives and trusting his men and his friends to be honorable…he knew that.

As he approached the tent flap that led out to the camp, he tried to make out the closest shapes in the darkness to decide if he could exit that way or not. With considerable surprise, he noticed that there was still a guard sitting outside-_sitting!_-who seemed not at all alarmed. It was a small form; an animal. Most of his tent guards were Narnians who jumped at the duty of watching the legendary high king while he slept. In a quick, deliberate motion, he pulled aside the opening and drew his sword, gleaming, into the light of the full moon.

The possum guard on duty was lounging in a lawn chair made of twigs; as soon as he caught sight of Peter, he leapt to his feet-well, hind legs-and snapped to attention.

"What's going on?"

"The white stag has been spotted in the forest, sire…" the possum looked a little embarrassed. "Some of the soldiers were trying to organize a hunting party. They didn't want to wake you. I was against it," he threw in for the record.

"Ah…that must be why no one came to me…and Caspian? Is he hunting, too?"

"No, my liege. My deepest apologies; it's nothing but foolishness, of course-"

"No, no. It's all right. No harm done, although I could have taken someone's head off just then, if I'd thought for a second we were under attack." He smiled fondly as the possum balked. "No fear. I would have stayed my sword for a Narnian. Come to think of it-would you do me a favor, Officer…?"

"Scratchscrabble, Sire!"

"Officer Scratchscrabble, would you please have Duanin brought to me? I'd like to ride," he commanded with hardly a thought.

"Immediately, sire." Scratchscrabble's throaty voice, which perfectly matched his name, was barely audible from twelve feet away. The animal took off at a brisk, businesslike walk for the stables, dodging a group of fauns who threw Peter a glance, shushed each other aggressively, and hurried away with guilty expressions.

Peter sighed and went back into his tent to change. A ride would do him good; he was a little annoyed that no one would have thought to awaken him. Hunting the white stag was a royal adventure, and he would have been sorely upset if he could not have been there to see the excitement if it were finally caught, but he tried to remind himself that he had no right to deprive anyone else of it, either. When he heard the clopping of Duanin's hooves outside-they sounded a bit lighter than usual-he came back out, sheathing his sword-and stopped stock-still in his tracks, a cold sweat breaking out all over his skin.

Scratchscrabble was nowhere to be found-and neither was Duanin, for that matter. Senigo, however, stood there, his eyes burning with grief, the rims red as he swallowed his pain with manly pride. He was holding the reigns of a younger horse, and Peter listened, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth, as Senigo explained that Duanin was not well.

"I brought along this one, your highness. It is a non-speaking horse, but very clever and well-trained. He will take you on the ride. No one will be able to keep pace with you, my lord."

"Thanks…" Peter spluttered, unable to say his lover's name, or anything else. Before he could move one foot in front of the other, Senigo put the reigns in his hands, his leather glove brushing Peter's palm with professional distance, turned on his heel, and disappeared in the direction from which he'd come.

There was nothing for it; Peter stood there in the chill until the horse whinneyed impatiently. Then, as if seeing it the reigns in his hand for the first time, he gripped them, threw himself over the stallion's back, and charged off into the woods as fast as the horse would take him.

nt here...


	6. Peter's Epiphany, Part 2

**Title: Vl. Peter's Epiphany, Part 2**

**Author's Note: This part of the story is not for Narnia purists...but I loved writing it. The resolution to come soon now...but be forewarned, as it may be bittersweet! Enjoy!**

* * *

Twigs and leaves whipped through his hair and across his face as he rode, stinging his skin. He paid no attention. Each slap felt like a deliberate reprimand. He deserved it. He deserved nothing but pain.

_Senigo_.

The young horse, whose hooves seemed barely to touch the ground, flew through the trees like a hound, seeming to be one with Peter, knowing that they were chasing a quarry, knowing somehow that they must run for all they were worth.

Peter deserved to die that night. He deserved to let this wild horse take him off into Wild Narnia, to throw him from its back in its reckless joy at being suddenly free-to leave its rider, crumpled in a heap of shattered bones, at the base of a tall, ancient cedar. He _wanted_ to die.

The moon had risen overhead, illuminating the entire forest in an eerie, silvery light; faintly, if he listened carefully with his practiced ears, he could hear the drums of dryads and naiads and fauns, the wood folk who celebrated with every full moon the light which gave them their special magic.

The woods held no magic for him this night. All seemed terrible, all seemed ruined, all wasted by his presence. Why had he ever come here? Why did Aslan ever let him come to Narnia? He would have been so much happier in dreary old England, donning stiffened collars and burying his face in arithmetic and Latin, marrying some frail, sorry excuse for a human being in a dress one day and popping out a brood of equally miserable children who would never know that there really was such a thing as magic, or life, or love, or Aslan.

_Caspian_.

Let Caspian have Narnia. But the damage had already been done; he had ruined Caspian, and whether he left for good now or not, he had left the mark of his shame, his filth, on the thrones of Car Paravel forever.

The light sound of hooves came to him over the wind of their ride; Peter shivered, partly with excitement, for the sound was familiar. He looked around in the forest, scanning all the shadows for the white stag. Many, many years ago, he had hunted the stag over and over…and no one, he was certain, had followed the stag so closely since his reign in Narnia past. No one knew the stag's patterns like he did. As if it were yesterday, the Peter of the past seemed to come back; his shadow self from then took over, and the horse, sensing the change, shifted its body in the slightest twitch of direction from Peter's heels.

They made a hard right along a river, which wound downhill along the mountain range that led deep into the Wild. Suddenly, a light figure zipped ahead; he could see the moonlight outlining the stag's horns. Breathing rhythmically like a runner, he followed, his pace never slowing, despite their quick turns around trees and trees…they sped up, the stag fifty meters ahead or so, running together as if connected by an invisible twine linking their destinies.

The horse below him snorted, blowing hot air from its nostrils as it redoubled its speed, sensing the urgency of the hunt though not understanding why, simply knowing. Suddenly, the horse pulled up short, throwing Peter high into the air as it reared and shrieked, and he managed to land back upon its back only barely as he gripped its mane and the front of the saddle.

They came thundering down onto the ground, the horse screaming in what seemed to be rage as much as pain as Peter felt the shock of the landing shiver up through its legs. He drew his sword, peering into the darkness ahead where the stag had disappeared.

"Who are you! Stand down, or I swear, by Aslan's mane, I will kill you," Peter roared at the dark, mounted figure that blocked their path.

The horse facing them, with the dark rider above, whinneyed, and Peter's horse answered. It came forward and Peter went forward to meet it, snarling.

"I said stand down! I am the High King Peter of Narnia, and I command these lands," he boasted angrily, not caring if he believed this or not. What difference did it make? As far as anyone else was concerned, this was true; anyone, perhaps, other than Aslan. But who was this rider who dared stand in his path?

As he clopped forward, restraining the horse beneath him from charging, a whizzing sound flicked by his ear. _Thud_. An arrow was now lodged halfway into a dead tree branch than hung just above his head. He yelled in a great, inarticulate rage.

"Stand and _fight_, bastard, if it's a fight you want! For Aslan, and for Narnia!"

The lyrical laughter that answered him stopped him half a second before his charge. It was a woman.

"Susan?" He called, uncertain. It did not sound like his sister, but who else could shoot like that? And who else would have followed him out here, this far? For he was certain now that he had been followed.

She laughed again, the sound achieving two simultaneous results; it calmed his rage instantly, so that he could _feel_ it seeping out like cold water from his core, and irritated him so that the rage was replaced by a sort of uncontrollable, infantile sulk.

"Well? Show yourself, then, lady! What do you want with me? Is this your home? Are you a nymph? Or do you protect the white stag?"

"Protect the stag?" The voice answered, as the horsewoman came forward. "Nay, I _am_ the stag. He is mine, just as these lands are _mine_, High King Peter of Narnia."

As the moonlight fell on her face, Peter could see that she wore no armor other than riding attire and her quiver of arrows upon her back. The queen of the southern wood nymphs!

He had not noticed, at the time, her terrible, wild, irresistible beauty. Perhaps that had been because he was distracted by her lack of manners. He scowled at her, infuriated by her easy grin. She did not seem at all bothered, at all even _affected_ by his rage a moment before. She felt no fear of him. She felt nothing, it seemed, but childish delight. She was so _annoying!_

"My lady, forgive me," he said more softly, making a great effort to compose himself. "I did not recognize you, nor your lands. In fact, I had no idea they extended so far."

"They extend as far as the stars of my world to the stars of yours. It is _you_ who are trespassing, High King," she said, still sounding amused, as the music of her voice seemed to calm the entire forest around them. Peter flushed, trying to be angry but finding little heat to fuel his indignation.

"What do you mean? And what could you possibly know about my world? You were probably an _infant_ when I was crowned, if you were even a twinkle in…in your tree's eye," he shot, wishing to be as nasty as possible for once. It gave him pleasure to insult her, but it was short-lived because he sounded so petulant compared to her nonchalance.

The queen turned her horse, who flicked its tail in Peter's direction as if making a purposefully obscene gesture, and Peter felt his anger returning.

"What do you want, then? I hunt the white stag. As far as I know, he is fair game for all Narnians. Do you think you can prevent _every_ other rider out tonight? There are several parties out in your woods, my lady, and if you do harm to _all _of them-"

Without a word, she took off like lightening through the forest. When she could no longer be seen, he heard her call out to him over the breeze: "Then come catch me if you think you can keep up, and let whomever takes down the stag decide who is truly ruler of Narnia!"

"Aaaaaaargh!" He yelled again, some of his calm leaving with the retreating queen, and he kneed his horse, who took off instantly in hot pursuit. She had cost him critical minutes of time, he realized, in chasing the stag; it was completely unfair!

Now he chased them both, down the mountainside, into the foothills, over huge branches and roots and rocks…and it seemed that now the trees whispered laughter as he galloped through, their twigs no longer hitting his face quite so hard-odd; that must be because they would not hurt the queen-until finally she led him down, down to a great lake hidden in a valley that seemed like an oasis of wilderness in the Narnian lands that he knew.

As he slowed his pace, looking about him, he realized that everything seemed much more silent; he could hear no more drums, and he had no sense that any of the other riders had made it this far. He wondered thoughtfully whether the queen was treacherously leading him into a trap. Unlike his sisters, he mused, Narnia had not had much luck with female royalty, as far as he could tell.

"Let's not judge hastily," he muttered, breathing deeply to calm his nerves. He was not himself; he had to remember that he represented all Narnia in any dealings with others, not simply his own wishes.

When he arrived at the lake, the queen had dismounted. She stood a little way away, skipping stones thoughtfully across the silvery water. _Plooop! _Each rock sounded in the stillness. The horse she'd been riding was nowhere to be seen. After their encounter, Peter felt the moment to be somewhat absurd.

"What are you _doing_?" He finally asked, dismounting slowly himself and walking cautiously over. He stopped several feet away. There was something now thoughtful, sobering in her expression as she gazed across the water. She looked like she was trying very hard to figure out some kind of puzzle. Was she really all that right in the head? He wondered.

"Did you lose him?" he tried again, and she looked up, smiling sadly. For reasons he could not explain, he suddenly felt pity and compassion. "Don't feel bad, I've lost him many times. They say he cannot be caught, even. But I always try. There will be another time."

She smiled again, then regarded him with a raised eyebrow, like she was trying to read something in his features. He let her stare, uneasy; even though her behavior seemed childlike, if not idiotic, there was still something ancient and otherworldly about her look. Her hair, piled on top of her head, fell in wild, messy strands down her shoulders, and looked greenish like the leaves, although he could not be sure if it were just the moonlight. Though she was womanly in her figure, he marked the muscular shape of her arms and the straight, warriorlike stance of her carriage. She was no dainty queen, of that he was certain. She might, in fact, be a formidable enemy in a fight-

"Why did you invoke Aslan's name, just then?" she asked, her voice flat, expressionless, except for a careful curiosity, breaking into his thoughts. He started.

"Well, of course…I serve Aslan. We all do. Don't the wood nymphs recognize him?" He wondered if perhaps he had been assuming wrongly all along; perhaps there was less unity in old Narnia than he'd realized. Maybe this is what Aslan had wanted him and Caspian to come to terms with, and to confront. He had to tread carefully, if that were the case.

The queen of the wood nymphs gave a sad smile again, and he wondered what secret lay behind her strange, old eyes.

"But of course. You are the Mother of the Moon. They see you as the rightful ruler," he mused. "That must be why there was such awkwardness between us, before. But this is easily resolved. Caspian and I would gladly negotiate-"

"Peter," she said in a low voice, and something about it resonated deeply in his being. Deep inside, something awakened, so that he gradually felt rooted into the earth, planted like a tree, connected with all things in a way that he never had before-"Look at me, Peter. Don't you know me?"

She sighed-the sound echoing like a whisper through the trees-and looked up at him. And Peter looked into Aslan's eyes.

He fell to his knees, feeling light-headed.

"No…No! It can't _be…"_ A lump formed in his throat as he struggled with the familiar feeling of wanting to cry, but having no tears to shed. He was not ready. Why had Aslan lured him out here like this, knowing what he must know? And why, _why_ of all things in the world, had he taken this _form_?

"You…you…"

"It's _me_, Peter!" She-_As_lan-strode toward him, impatient, all pretense of composure dropped. In her face was everything that could never be found on the Lions-a convoluted expression of love, grief, and fondness kindled with joy. How could _this_ be _Aslan_? Everything about it was so _wrong_…

"Peter, you _know_ me. A moment ago, you had no fear of me at all. Why are you cowering _now_?" As she came forward, Peter held up a trembling hand to stop her.

"Don't…_don't_ come any closer! How can you _talk_ that way?" His bewilderment mixed with fury at the desecration of the Lion with this woman's body, this mere wood nymph who was, as far as he was concerned, everything Aslan was _not_. He wanted above all to silence her voice, to erase the sound of that earthly, _human_ quality that might have been heard anywhere, even on the streets of London, with nothing special about it, except for the way it made you feel when you _listened_ in the stillness of the woods by the lake…

She had stopped, pulled out her bow, now looking slightly amused again. She drew an arrow and shot quickly, absently-her powerful arms tensing as she drew back the string, for a quick instant looking suddenly _very_ familiar, and very like a god-the arrow whizzed over the lake and disappeared in the darkness on the other side, the arc of downward motion never materializing. Something clicked into place in the moonlight.

"I know who you are; you're Artemis. Diana. That goddess in mythology who looks after animals and virgins…we read about you in my world." Of course; it made perfect sense! After all, hadn't they met Father Christmas in their last encounter through the Wardrobe? Everything in Narnia, in fact, had its mythological counterpart in the pages of books he'd encountered as a child in England.

She turned to him again, a sidewise, regal smile confirming her status as a deity.

"Those are some of my names. But they aren't the ones you know me by, so why use them?"

"Wait a moment, just _hang_ on. I thought you were-"

"Yes?"

"Well, for a moment, I thought…I thought…your eyes reminded me of someone's," he finished lamely, now struggling to stand. He still could not look into her eyes without wanting immediately to look away again for their disorienting affect. The deep, rich, eternal, brown eyes of the Lion always looked back, empty of judgment, unreadable except for intense interest.

"You still don't know me." She sighed, so sadly he felt horribly guilty, just as he did whenever he said something insensitive to his brother or sisters and was scolded by his mother. "It figures. I thought, perhaps, in this form…"

"What do you mean?"

"It's no matter." She seemed to shake herself out of her disappointment, and once again she seemed to be the odd-mannered queen of the wood nymphs. "The stag is gone," she told him, now businesslike. "I chased him to the edge, and lost his trail in the water. He cannot be found when the moon touches its own reflection in water. You should know that if you ever hope to catch him. It seems to be a part of lore forgotten in Narnia." She put her quiver away and began to move away from him, looking preoccupied with securing her belt.

He went after her, unwilling to ignore their mysterious meeting.

"Wait, please, your highness. My queen!"

She ignored him, putting her two fingers into her mouth and whistling shrilly. Off in the distance, he heard the answering sound of a wild horse's neigh.

"Goddess. _Aslan_," he said at last, his voice forceful, and she stopped..and turned. And there were _His_ eyes again.

"I _do_ know you," he whispered, his heart pounding, but otherwise, feeling strangely calm, even _peace_ful. "I don't understand how, but I know you're Aslan, not just another creature, not just the goddess Artemis. Please, stay with me…speak and tell me why you brought me here. I'll do anything you say, suffer any punishment you have for me. Only don't leave me alone. I'd rather die by your hands now than live the rest of my days without seeing you again, Aslan."

The woman came to him then, her face sharp-but the eyes of Aslan still melted him, deep, liquid brown pools of pure love in which he felt swept away-she reached a strong arm to him, touched his face with her fingers. Warmth radiated from her, tingling his skin, and spreading throughout his whole body. He sighed and grasped her hand, pressing his face into her palm. Then he wept, his body shaking, his tears spilling into her hand and dropping like rain to the ground.


	7. Peter's Promise

**Title: VII Peter's Promise**

**Author's Notes: Wraps up the "Epiphany" chapters. I've got one or two more chapters coming, but the story's almost at an end! Once again, thanks to the faithful readers for their patience. Don't worry; we'll be returning to the lovers soon, although I can't promise everything will end as you've hoped. Thanks in advance for reviews, and enjoy!**

* * *

"I'm sorry I didn't meet you…" Peter trailed off, not knowing what to call the queen who was a goddess who was also Aslan. "I was afraid; but you already know about that."

"Yes." Artemis watched him skip stones across the lake as she had done a while ago, seeming lost in her own eternal thoughts. Peter knew that though she sat there beside him, comforting him with her presence and the revelation that Aslan had come to him in this form specifically for his sake, the work of sorting out what was happening with Senigo and Caspian would remain his to discover. He sighed, exhausted.

"I have some questions for you, though I know you probably won't be able to answer all of them."

She looked at him and smiled, waiting, the deep brown eyes flecked with silver from the reflected moon in the lake. Peter took a deep, shaky breath, leaning back on his arms.

"Am I a sinner?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific," she answered, her voice even, but amusement dancing in her eyes. Peter was even more bewildered, but he was too tired and numb with surprise to fight.

"All right," he said after thinking for a moment. "Let me put it this way. In Telmar, the men soldiers…have relations with each other."

"Yes?"

"This is part of their, their culture, as it were. I mean, if it's _wrong_, they don't seem to realize it. But where I come from, it's more like-well, if anyone were to behave that way, it would be like Sodom and Gomorrah-I mean that, it wouldn't be looked on well. Everyone would say such people were evil at worst, and perhaps ignorant at best."

"All right."

It was simply an agreement with his statement of fact; she did not reveal any emotion.

"So which one of us is right? The Telmarines, or…or where I'm from?"

"The Telmarines understand themselves better than those from your world, Peter."

"So…that's it? That's all there is?"

"That's all I can tell you that will make sense to you right now."

He considered this.

"Is that why you…you let me find out, while I'm here, how I…am?" He had been going to say "feel," but realized it was not the right word after all.

"It was bound to work out that way."

"Come to think of it, if it had happened back home…I'm not sure if I would have been able to face it at all. I mean that I am not certain I would even know what was happening. Probably would have ignored it…for years and years and years."

"It would be very hard for you, and very hard for those you love."

"I see."

"Perhaps. A little." She looked at him, smiling again, and he smiled back ruefully. "Your other questions?"

He frowned.

"What do I do now?"

"About what?"

"About all this! All the trouble I've-it's caused! Caspian, and Senigo…what about them?"

Now Artemis looked unmistakably sad. She was quiet for a moment, and it seemed like she was listening for something, as she tilted her head and gazed at the dark trees across the water. When she spoke, her voice was full of both sympathy and honesty.

"You are so certain you are here to _do_ something about it. Why is that?"

"You mean…there's nothing I _can_ do about it, don't you," he said in a low voice. She nodded, watching him carefully.

"It's not the only reason you are here, is it."

"No. I'm here because we were needed. Narnia needed us to unite it under Caspian. That's what I'm supposed to do," he said, now resolute.

"Yes. And?"

He looked up, anguished.

"I'm going to have to let him go, aren't I?" His voice was a mere whisper, and her soft, sad smile was answer enough.

It was clear, now. But it was too much to think about all at once. He realized now that they must have been out in the forests for hours…soon he would need to head back, and he had a feeling that Artemis was calling their meeting to an end. There was only one other thing, then.

"What about Senigo?"

"What about him?"

"I hurt him. You know it. I…I don't know if I can be forgiven."

"You mean if you can forgive yourself."

"Yes." He nodded, his eyes pricking. He mastered himself quickly; woman or no, he was not in the habit of shedding tears in Aslan's presence.

"When you set in motion events that can't be altered, Peter, it's at those times that it is most important to remember that you are loved." In her eyes now was such a strong, deep warmth, that Peter felt without question she really meant, loved by her. "That's why people feel that they need forgiveness, Peter. So that they will have the ability to love themselves again."

"But what will become of him?" he asked, his voice small and naked.

"He will continue on his path. It is not your concern, and there's nothing you can do."

He swallowed, and nodded.

"In that case," he said, after a brief silence, "I'd like to ask something of you."

"What is it?"

"Please. Take care of him…" He trailed off but knew she understood.

"Yes. And now I have something very important to ask of you, Peter."

As she stood, he followed her, his back straightening, remembering his station as king.

"You know this is the last time you will be in Narnia."

He nodded gravely, and swallowed.

"But your work here does not end. Everything that has happened here, to you and your brother and sisters, continues even as you return home. One day, you will be called to Narnia again; but it will be at her end. When that day comes, there will be three of you instead of four. Do you know why?"

Horrified, Peter shook his head.

"I think what you have discovered here, about yourself, will help you understand. You must always remember what you have learned about love, Peter, because your brother and sisters will need it. What have you learned?"

"I've learned…." Distracted by the horrifying thought of leaving one of his siblings behind, he shook his head to clear it. Then he had it. "I've learned that love is a lot like you. It can look quite different than you've ever expected, and come to you at the most unexpected times."

Now, when Artemis smiled, it seemed to be a great smile of both relief and pride.

"All will be well, if you remember this. Good. And now-" She looked pensively at the moon, then off into the shadows, where Peter thought heard a whinney, and saw the dark, shadowy form of a stag-"

"I should be getting back," he offered.

"Yes; and I have to leave you, at least for tonight."

"Will I see you again?"

"You will always see me, Peter, every day. You will only need to notice. I thought we'd established that." She looked stern, as if chiding him, but despite the heavy feelings inside, Peter felt compelled to embrace her, so he did-and realized it was something he had never done with the great lion.

"I'll visit you and the others one more time to send you home. I have things to tell them as well. But I will not be in this form again, at least not in this place."

"I understand. And after tonight, I hope I will know you anywhere-even in England."

"I hope so too, Peter, High King of Narnia," she said softly, squeezing him back, and Peter was filled with the lightness of hope.


	8. Epilogue: Peter Pevensie

**Title: VIII Peter Pevensie**

**Author's Note: After a long hiatus, I decided I really wanted to wrap this one up. It is slash, Peter/Caspian, but as a true fan of Lewis and the Narnia chronicles ever since childhood, it's about a little more than that…at least to me. J I hope that comes through. Enjoy!**

It had been agony…sweet agony, saying goodbye.

Only Peter and Caspian knew what had passed between them, when they embraced, king to king, and the Pevensies stepped through the great tree in the shadow of the lion.

"I will always treasure your memory, High King Peter, when I think of the debt I owe to this land, and I will never forget all you have taught me, about…"

"Neither will I," Peter answered firmly, as he looked into Caspian's determined eyes.

A clasping of hands and a secret token, a piece of Narnia and a piece of England, etched with both their initials, were each hidden close to the hearts of the lovers closer than brothers could ever be.

Yet, even as Peter turned his back, even as he listened to the sniffles and sobs of his sisters as they stepped into the train platform that materialized in front of them, he felt the separation, as if a dream, that his love for Caspian had become mere affection. He was ready to look forward, and not back.

He had grown up.

_Again_, he thought, catching up to the irony. _That's interesting…_

Susan looked down, biting her lip in deep thought, as the boys prepared to part ways with the girls.

"Hey," he said affectionately, bumping her elbow.

"Hey?"

"Will you be all right?"

Edmund and Lucy were standing apart, having some animated discussion about Narnia, no doubt; Lucy's eyes still sparkled with happy tears.

Susan shrugged.

"All right for them," he tried again, as the whistle blew. "They know they'll be going back."

"I suppose."

"Susan? Write to me, will you?"

"Yeah, all right."

"I mean it, Su-I want to hear from you, during school. Will you? Please?"

Finally she looked up, and Peter, feeling awkward, smiled as reassuringly as he could. "We'll have our own adventures now…we'll need someone to share them with."

"All right," she said, with false reluctance. And smiled.


End file.
